


Heart of the Matter, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Mulder and Scully take turns, er, come to terms with Alex Krycek.





	Heart of the Matter, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

The Heart of the Matter by Spike

"The Heart of the Matter"  
by Spike  
Disclaimer: Not...my...characters. Not...my...song...lyrics. Don't...intend...to...profit. Must...write... better...disclaimer.  
Rating: NC-17 for tongues in naughty places, sexual bullying, sex, royal mindfuckery, unsafe exchange of bodily fluids, and wonky characterization  
Warning: WHOOP WHOOP hetsmut homosmut scullysmut muldergames alextorment WHOOP WHOOP  
Summary: Mulder and Scully take turns, er, come to terms with Alex Krycek.  
Archive: Yes, please.  
Author's note: this story is a prezzie for Te because she is Te and I love that about her.  
Acknowledgements: thanks to Nonie Rider and Dawn Pares for polishing and wrapping this prezzie and putting all the commas in. All the good ones anyway. The silly ones are mine.  
Feedback: Pleeeeeeze. Public or private to The Spike <>  
For Te:

* * *

"The Heart of the Matter"  
by Spike  
11/98

Scully sits on the motel room bed, bouncing a little. She's a little drunk, still holding a bottle of Dos Equis, half full, in her left hand. Her right hand rubs anxiously against her nyloned thigh. Her mouth is dry. She licks her lips, looks up at the two men in front of her.

Mulder is flushed, a little more drunk than Scully or just playing it up. His jacket is off, ruffled tuxedo shirt open to the third button, bow-tie untied. His eyes are glittering, face a little shiny and his smile... There are no words in Dr. Dana K. Scully's vocabulary to describe that smile and she has to rummage through memories of hormonal haze and adolescent crushes to find the expression that fits. His smile is *wicked*. Wicked ungood. His smile is making her wet. He is standing behind the third member of this strange little party -- Alex murderertraitorcoward Krycek. He has his left hand on Alex Krycek's shoulder, his right -- the hand with the gun -- out of sight behind Krycek's back, and he is whispering something in Alex Krycek's ear. Whatever he's said, Krycek looks scared. Looks more scared than he did ten minutes ago when they caught him in the parking lot, pretending he wasn't breaking into the Bucar Ford. Scully feels a terrible giggle rise in her throat. 

"What did you tell him, Mulder?" Mulder's lips are right at Krycek's ear.

"Tell her," Mulder stage-whispers.

"No..." Krycek rasps back. His voice is breathless with something like horror. His eyes are wide. Sweat beads heavily on his upper lip. Such a perfect pretty face, Scully has always wanted to slap it, scratch it with her nails. Maybe she will tonight. Things are definitely getting out of hand and worst of all Scully knows she doesn't care.

"*Tell* her," Mulder insists and Alex gasps and arches forward as if something hard and dangerous is pressing into his back. He too is flushed -- the color in his face seems to have gathered in his cheeks like rouge, seeping thinly down along the tense line of his jaw.

"I..." Krycek stammers. "I -- he..." He stops, looks down at his feet. Scully raises a questioning eyebrow at Mulder but Mulder just gives her that smile again. The one he gave her just after he said "Aw fuck..."; just before he took her in his arms on the dance floor and kissed her long and hard and real enough to make her say, dizzily: "Okay..." and mean it any way he wanted to take it. Dangerous smile that once more sets a little fire in her little red muff and he leans in, rests his chin on Krycek's shoulder and says:

"Take your clothes off, *now*..." 

 His voice is like fly-cast strike directly to her brain. Dana feels a *thunk* in the pit of her stomach and her hips arch without her volition to grind her clit lightly against itself. She can feel her nipples rub against the satin and lace of her bra. Her hand goes to the top button of her shirt. Oh my God, she thinks: I'm going to do this. Mulder is looking into her eyes and she feels like she is falling, falling...

But:

"God. Please Mulder, don't. I'll..." Krycek's voice is thick with desperation. He looks up then at Scully, eyes pleading. Scully's hand opens, flattens against her throat as she realizes. Momentary stab of --disappointment? Jealousy? -- but then her gaze meets Mulder's smile again and dark understanding blossoms like a black rose in moonlight.

"Do it," Scully says. Krycek's mouth falls open, then shuts. His shoulders slump. Mulder steps back, leans back against the wall, arms crossed. Scully takes a swig of her beer.

"You heard the lady," Mulder says. Krycek glances up at Scully once more. His eyes are hard and green like jade. His expression is unreadable. He straightens his spine and shrugs and his jacket falls off his shoulders. Scully feels a hot little shiver run up between the tight, wet lips of her cunt. The jacket hits the floor with a soft thump. He is wearing a white t-shirt underneath. Her gaze flicks instantly to the artificial arm, ivory white and crudely jointed -- and back up to his face. And what is it she sees? Shame and pain? Or is that a smug little smile? And why is it so hard to tell? And why the fuck does she care? The bastard has cut as much or more from her. And besides...besides...

Besides the artificial arm there is the rest of him. Thick-muscled, big-boned but not heavy -- the barest swell of a belly beneath the thin cotton, slim hips, long legs and against her will she imagines the hot satin of his skin, the swell and hollow of his flesh beneath her hand. And she watches as his hand, his real right hand, reaches back and grabs the collar of the t-shirt, pulls it off over his head. It catches on the leather harness of the prosthetic, drags as he yanks at it.

Mulder is up off the wall, but Krycek has the shirt off before he can reach for it. If Krycek knows he's there he gives no sign. He drops the t-shirt at Scully's feet. On impulse she picks it up, holds it to her face and inhales. Leather and laundry soap and fear. Or something else -- the smell of him; some pheromonal essence that fills her with a sudden want. Or maybe it's not that at all but just the power and the play, the wildness in Mulder's eyes, the alcohol, the pre-menstrual ache between her thighs...

"Keep going," Mulder says, low in his throat, and Krycek jumps a little at the sound. Had he stopped? Had he been watching her? He isn't now; eyes closed, he toes off his boots -- old leather, well worn; black socks underneath -- toes those off too to reveal surprisingly well-formed feet. And his hand goes to his fly. And Scully realizes she's sitting forward on the bed. He unbuttons, slides the zipper down, one-handed peel of dusty black denim revealing -- oh God -- pelvic hollows, black fan of pubic curl -- naked underneath the jeans.

"Well, well..." says Mulder brightly from behind and Scully is amazed to see tumescence -- Krycek is half-hard already and rising -- at the sound of...Mulder's voice? And this time when she looks Krycek's eyes are open and there is something naked there. 

Well, well, indeed. The jeans pool at his ankles and he steps out. Nude Venus rising from the waves. For seven heartbeats no-one moves or speaks. Then Krycek clears his throat, laughs nervously, looks over his shoulder at Mulder.

"What are you going to do with me?"he asks. The sixty-four thousand dollar question and Scully looks to Mulder, too. And Mulder isn't smiling now. Or not quite smiling. Scully doesn't think she's ever seen that look before. She thinks he's going somewhere dark with this, but he surprises her again. Just shrugs expansively.

"Scully...?

Back to her. His gift. To do with as she pleases. Not by the book, not through the system that has so badly failed her, but as she pleases. She can read it in the open yearning on his face. Only you know what will make it right for you, Scully. Only you know what you need, what you want... 

So what does she want?

Looking at Krycek now, scared to shaking (or is that just the cold?), cock rampant; nipples taut with unconcealable arousal (or is *that* just the cold?), eyes begging for release -- Don't. Please. Don't -- or is that just her own desire to see him beg? And yet, unerring she knows she knows the truth: It flows down her spine to her groin like a slide of molten gold.

"Turn around," she says. She sees the shock of recognition pass through him; the unfinished shake -- No! -- of his head; oh, but the traitor's traitorous cock leaps to the task. The wine-stain flush along his jaw bleeds down to throat and chest. Naked, naked everywhere and he turns.

And oh, Mulder's face. Scully wishes for one moment that she were an artist so she could reproduce that radiance in oil and canvas -- it is the inspiration for a masterwork. Soft chuckle in her breast. A *mistress* work -- Dana Scully, Dominatrix, and she envisions herself in porno drag --thigh boots and corset; catwoman mask and crop and she will tell Mulder this some time, she thinks and maybe...

Maybe anything is possible now because she is looking at Krycek's long straight back, his perfect peachy ass and past him to where Mulder stands --expression open and waiting; breath coming fast and shallow -- a pleasantly impressive bulge straining the black silk of his trousers. She catches Mulder's eye and smiles.

"Tell him what you want," she says. Oh, yes, she knows... Mulder swallows hard, lips part as if to speak but once more it is Krycek who rushes in:

"You're fucking nuts," he husks, too low for anger. "Both of you."

"Your bad luck," says Mulder to Dana's silent cheer. He waggles the gun --"I think you'd better do what she says." -- which really isn't fair. Isn't right. Force will only break the fragile crystal structure of what's forming here.

"Mulder," she says. "Put the gun away." He hesitates. Looks as though he might argue but she arches an eyebrow at him and he shrugs and complies. It's not like she doesn't have a gun herself. And besides, he's going to need both his hands for what she has in mind.

She stands then, beer bottle still in hand and steps up to close the distance. She lays her hand on Krycek's lower back -- surprising heat and a v of silky hair like the vestige of a tail pointing down to the cleft of his ass -- and feels him start. She gentles him, stroking lightly, using her nails to gently rasp his flesh and then to draw a line up the curve of his back to the tense set of shoulders -- the draw and pull of those terrible, wine-dark scars beneath the straps and Velcro tabs. Her fingers lightly touch, scratch along the leather web. Krycek arches reflexively back into her hand, then winces away. Impulsively she presses the mouth of the bottle into his back.

"Listen to me," she says. "This is your only chance. Your only hope. Do you understand? 

"Oh Christ..." Real fear. She wonders if he's hearing death in her words. The threat of death and she does nothing to correct him. It's only a small misunderstanding after all; she means exactly what she said. 

"Do you understand?" she asks again Muscles jerk with tension but then he nods. Let's out a shaky breath. The tension dissipates -- defeat or acquiescence or release? Ah, well, it will all end up to be whatever it will be. And so:

"Tell him what you want." His second nod is barely perceptible, slow.

"I...uh..." he begins. "I want..."

Ten heartbeats this time. Twelve. Scully feels the first sinking pale of doubt.

"I want..." Oh God, his voice is rough; a tear in the heart of the world --so raw. "I want... you... Want..." Mulder is rapt on him, tiny frown of concentration -- can't Krycek see? Are hers the only eyes? "I want... oh fuck oh Jesus... t-touch me." This last a ragged whisper and Mulder has leaned in, no wicked smile at all but:

"Where?" Scully feels the shock under her hand, it ripples out like a wave and she catches it, feels it in her secret burning heart. Krycek's hand goes to his mouth -- intended or reflexive gesture she couldn't say, but Mulder's focus is unbroken. He leans in close, drops his head slightly, takes Krycek's mouth. Scully gasps. She knows that angel's kiss, that kiss that brought her here tonight. She feels them sway together long and slow like the ground is rippling underfoot. Krycek's hips buck gently under her hand. She hears a whimpered moan, the slide and whisper of slick flesh and then the tender suck as Mulder breaks the kiss. 

And Mulder takes Krycek by the shoulders, turns him to her, turns him to reveal what he has done -- a face once pretty now marred, made beautiful by naked need -- eyes half-mast and glazed, lips soft and cherry-stained and she has to pull Krycek down to reach them, take them for her own. So soft and faint taste of oranges, of Mulder. She slips her tongue between them, licks the glossy ridge of teeth. Krycek's own sharp tongue darts out and nudges hers. She opens to him, one hand cupping his cheek, the other tracing collar bone to breast, fanning against the fevered flesh, sparse hair.

They kiss and kiss, such sweetness and such heat -- and then an anguished cry and Krycek yanks himself away as if he's burned.

"What are you..." He's panting, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "What do you *want* from me?" 

"Shh," Scully says gently. "I want you on your knees." She places her hands on Krycek's shoulders, puts pressure on them. Resistance at first but she neither increases nor removes the pressure and slowly he begins to fold. Then Mulder's hands come to rest lightly upon hers, twine with hers and he gives her this look, this half-bemused look with crystal glitter underneath.

And she can only shrug: There's magic in the air. Motel magic and beer magic and dancing at the end of the world magic. They are spinning together across this threshold and Scully has no idea of what is on the other side, only this clear, undeniable faith in the rightness of their course. 

"I love you," she mouths silently to Mulder, words that have lived forever in the quiet space between her tongue-tip and the air. His surprise is evident, innocent and so sweet she wants to lick it off his lips. Of course I do you big baboon, she thinks. You love me too, you know. But she doesn't say any of this, just leans to kiss him, farther to brush lips against his ear

"Your turn," she whispers.

"I'm not so sure I know this game," he whispers back. But he releases her hands, pulls Krycek's head back for one brief kiss and then brings it forward again, holding Krycek's gaze in place.

"What do you see?" he asks. Krycek hesitates, unsure:

"Agent -- Agent Scully?"

"What else?"

"I don't know," Krycek complains. "Her legs, her skirt. You want me to describe her?"

"I want you to tell me what you see," says Mulder.

"You're going to kill me," Krycek says. "You're going to play this fucking game with me and then you're going to kill me."

"Is that what you see?"

"Just fucking do it then. Get it over with."

"Anything but the truth, eh, Krycek?"

"That *is* the truth." But Mulder twines his hand in Krycek's hair, pushes his head forward and down.

"That's the truth too," Mulder says. "Tell me what you see." Scully sees Krycek's passion and his pain: his cock, ripe and swollen, leaking tears of need.

"That's not my *fault*..." 

Boys, boys, Scully thinks. Poor scarred boys who don't know how to play.

"Mulder," she says, softly. He looks up at her, anger evident. "I think you need to tell Alex what *you* want." 

"What I...?" Outraged, but then he stops, considers, and the argument on his lips transmutes to a gently crooked smile. The glitter returns to his eyes. Busted. He shakes his head, wryly. Eases Krycek's head back up and turns it so he is looking into Krycek's eyes.

"Christ," he says, laughs. "What I want...I want *you*, you son of a bitch. I want your cock in my mouth; your mouth on my cock...everything. I want to fuck you. I want to make you come. I want to make you beg to come and I want to watch you come apart screaming my fucking name and then I want to come so hard up your ass that I can't even remember whose fucking name I'm screaming..." And as Mulder is talking, he's stroking Krycek's head and throat and chest and every stroke sets off a long, slow wrack of shudder through the kneeling man's body. He's making Krycek beautiful again and it makes Scully want to cry with joy to see such godly alchemy. 

She puts the beer bottle down at her feet, steps around the boys -- her boys? -- so that she is behind Mulder. Reaching up, she unbuttons his shirt, skims it down off his shoulders. She takes one of his hands, removes the cufflink, tugs the sleeve away. Does the same on the other side. Clothing falls away like shed cocoon, silk dress pants, silk boxers (neon green alien heads -- oh *Mulder* -- and the cock that leaps joyfully free of them is as impressive as she'd hoped); socks and shoes jumble at his feet and she sweeps them all away. And Mulder is so lovely naked -- slim and smoothly muscled and his skin is such fine pale gold it makes her ache to stroke it (and why hesitate?) and so she does.

Sharp inhale of breath from Mulder and her fingertips raise trails of gooseflesh in their wake. His back, his hips, around to cup momentarily that heavy, heated rod in her palm, run her thumb around its cherry head.

"Ah... Dana...God..." his gut-wrenched prayer to her. "I want..."

"Shhh," she says again. "Not yet. We have to do this first."

"Do what?" For a moment she doesn't know -- she is playing this by ear, making it up as she goes, blind navigator following the sound of distant pipes. And then she does:

"Krycek," she says. "Alex."

"What...? he answers, turning to look at her over his shoulder. His eyes are wet and dark. His heavy eyelashes clumped with unshed tears. She can see it in his face -- he thinks she's mad, she's cruel, she's lusting for his blood. And yes, that's there, that's part of it. But...it's down to the heart of everything she is. She can't go on like this. This night might end in fire or blood -- she has to admit the possibility is there --but still, she knows she must go on. And so:

"It's your turn now," she says. 

"My...turn," he echoes. Uncertain. Disbelieving. Scared.

"To do with as you please," Scully says, a sudden trickle of cold terror running down between her breasts. Krycek laughs.

"You'd let me walk out of here," he says, flat sarcastic snarl.

"If it's what you want."

"Yeah?" he needles. "And what about you, Foxy? You down with that?" Mulder makes a face, sighs, runs his fingers through his hair.

"Well, I won't stop you," he says. Seven heartbeats. Eight. Krycek shrugs.

"All right," he says. He gets up off his knees, awkwardness and grace combined in every move. He reaches for his shirt, the one that Scully pressed against her face, then stops; turns back. 

"What if I want something else?" he asks.

"What if?" says Mulder. Scully only waits.

"Say I want what you said *you* wanted. To fuck you. Or her," he added, as if it made no difference. "Can I do that?" Challenge, defiance, but yes, Scully decides, he is really asking, too.

"Is that what you want?" she asks.

"Say it is," he shrugs. 

"You're a big boy, Alex," Scully says. "You don't need my permission--" And she barely has the words out, barely registers the change in his face before he's there, one-armed embrace and crushing her against his chest, mouth swooping down to snatch her mouth like prey. Not a pretty kiss, not a loving kiss -- but brutal, ravenous. Teeth click and clash and she is right there at his mouth, snarling, snapping and his hand comes down and grabs her ass. Grinds her against his swollen prick, nearly lifting her off the ground. And oh, it's fucking good to war like this, to be this real. She grabs his hips, his ass, and bucks against him hard. She is making noises -- grunts and snarls all mixed up with sighs as pleasure starts to burn.

But Krycek's hand is in her hair and he pulls her off his mouth. Pulls himself away. Panting hard. Trembling. Both of them. A silken strand of pre-cum stretches between the tip of his cock and the wet crotch of her skirt.

And Mulder is just inches away, brows furrowed, intent as any child watching parents fight. Krycek's mouth opens as if he is amazed and another laugh comes out, high and harsh and he grabs Mulder by the hair and pulls him close, too. Mouth opens to his mouth; their kiss is deep and wild and slow, not ended but drunk complete and they break apart without a sound.

"Take her clothes off," Krycek says. His voice is thick, rough. Dark as midnight oil. Scully feels it resonate like cave bells through her flesh. Mulder steps behind her. His hands touch her shoulders, slide over her collarbones to the collar of her blouse. His long fingers work the small pearl buttons free, gently tug the blouse free of skirt. The cool air sizzles on her hot flesh, her nipples chafe. The shirt is pulled away and Krycek is in front of her, hands meeting Mulder's on her waist, pulling her close to take her breast into his mouth. Wet heat through lace and ecstasy is racing through her veins, and Mulder at her neck, behind her ear, tonguing hot and sweet. And Krycek at her other breast now, teeth teasing at the tortured nub of nipple and this is -- oh -- this *is*...It *is*.

Both mouths on her now, front and back and her lacy bra is gone. Tongue in her navel and someone is tugging off her skirt, her nylons... Hands feather light upon her hips and those hot mouths. Tongue of fire down her spine, at the cleft of her ass, hot mouth suckling at her Venus mons. Her thighs are dripping, drenched; the honeypot is filled to overflowing and now devil's tongues are flicking in and out, rough boy's tongues like snakes and snails and puppy dog tails. Tongues hot and hard, tongues soft and wet, spreading her, entering her, drinking her like wine from a cup. And oh, this is good and -- ahh -- this is right and for a moment she can almost see the shape of the heavenly plan. Overwhelmed with joy and she tries to tell the tongue-wielders but she is speaking in tongues and there are lights sparkling round the corners of her vision, there is a molten river flowing to her cunt and her legs are full of light and she is coming, coming, coming, coming, coming...

There.

Long shaky breath and Mulder's arms around her, cradling her, holding her up. Krycek, down on one knee before her, hand on her hip, forehead pressed against her belly. She rests her hand on his dark head. Stray thoughts ghost through her still-ringing brain: I dub thee Knight... She doesn't laugh.

"Was that..." she says, surprised at the shakiness of her voice. "Was that what you wanted?"

Krycek doesn't speak, but his grip on her hipbone tightens. He nods against her flesh, then shakes his head. Then raises his face to hers, beautiful glamour of sex upon his features; lips and chin still shiny with her slick. 

"I want..." he begins again, his only chant, but Mulder cuts him off.

"It's my turn now," he says. Well, technically, Scully thinks, it's hers, but this is right. This is what she wants. She turns in Mulder's loose embrace, light bite and kiss on the point of his chin and she breaks away, steps back.

Krycek on his knee to Mulder now. Mulder's smile is rich.

"And *I* want--"

"I know what you want."

"Then get on the fucking bed."

"Make me," Krycek snarls. Mulder shakes his head, crosses his arms and purrs:

"Beg me," 

"You son of a *bitch*," Krycek spits and leaps at Mulder. They tangle --bruises, thumps but Mulder presses his advantage, gets Krycek's good right arm twisted up behind his back, grabs a handful of his hair. Turns Krycek's head for another scourging kiss. Krycek staggers against him and Mulder pushes him away.

"Get on the bed." Krycek backs away. The bed catches him behind the knees and he sits abruptly, looks up, looks away but does not rise.

"On your back," Mulder says, gentler now. "Go on." And slowly Krycek complies, crabwalks back until he is laid out flat, arms -- ivory and flesh -- at his sides, eyes on the ceiling. He flinches as the bed dips under Mulder's weight, as Mulder stalks the length of him like a panther.

When he reaches Krycek's left shoulder, Mulder stops. Experimentally tugs on the leather webbing. Krycek flinches violently at the touch. He screws his eyes up tight, covers them with his hand. Mulder finds the catch, the tabs. Clever fingers pull them free -- resounding rip of Velcro -- he lifts the leather yoke and its heavy burden, lays them to one side. Krycek gasps, a sound so sharp it just might be a sob. He's shaking again. Mulder doesn't seem to mind. He seems lost in this -- this task; this exploration of the undiscovered fleshscape laid before him. What does he see there, Scully wonders. Beauty? Horror? The anamorphic rendering of his own desire? His clever fingers map the new terrain -- following invisible lines of force, tracing secret paths in flesh scarred and unscarred -- and here and there his mouth dips down, sends out exquisite geometer's tools of lips and teeth and tongue to lick, nibble, taste or worry at some tender bit of flesh. And every inch of Krycek's flesh seems to rise to this touch. Krycek is making tiny mewling sounds and writhing, heels pressed into the mattress, hips arching off the bed.

Mulder works his way down Krycek's ribs and belly -- tender bites down across that barely rounded tum; swirl of tongue around that navel. He lingers at the pelvic cut, nibbling, nuzzling one side then the other; rubbing his cheek far too lightly against Krycek's cock, making Krycek's body beg. And Scully, sitting now in the room's only chair, arms wrapped 'round her naked knees, finds that she is silently begging, too, warmth glowing in her loins like banked coals aching to be kindled into flame.

And Mulder drops his head, his angel mouth descends and he takes the weeping, swollen head of Krycek's cock into his molten furnace heat and *sucks*...

And Krycek howls: the sound ripping from his throat, strangled and raw and it pierces Scully's soul, drives searing heat directly to her clit. So beautiful, so right. To watch as Mulder takes him deep, that rod of flesh disappearing between swollen lips, emerging time and again, polished and taut under the swirling chamois of a tongue. To hear the breathless need in Krycek's abandoned cries as Mulder releases that tortured cock at last, pushes Krycek's knees up, lifts his hips and lowers his face to burrow deep beneath his balls.

Oh god, to rim -- and Scully wants to burrow with him, plunder that rosy bud, feel her and Mulder's tongues twining together in Krycek's ass -- and next time maybe she will, they will... and Mulder lifts his head. Licks his lips, surveys what he has wrought. And Scully, gazing from her distant perch, suddenly sees what Mulder sees: this gorgeous creature conjured by his hands and tongue -- emerald glitter of eyes and carmine cheeks, a sprawl of loose muscle and glowing flesh and at the center, the core of his burning, brilliant need -- Krycek's cock, a marvel of strained flesh, weeping uncontrollably now, glistening and red as a coal. And Mulder's own cock -- purpled, rampant. Scully only sees it now that he has paused -- how barely contained, how close to the edge he's brought himself with this artful seduction. Ha! No art to it at all, only wanting. Mulder *wants* and she looks up to see his face and she knows he knows she's there and Mulder smiles.

"Scully," he says. But she is on her feet already, at his side and she takes the fingers of his hand, kisses them, slides them between her pussy lips. Holds them up shiny, glistening with her slippery juices. Mulder looks at her in dumbstruck wonder. Scully can only smile, shrug.

"I'm a Girl Scout at heart," she whispers. He gives her that shiver-wicked smile again.

"Bring your cookies round my door anytime, little girl..." and he slips his hand back between her legs, thumbs her clit until she moans, comes out with honeyed hand. He slides his slippery fingers down the cleft of Krycek's ass, presses one finger through the rosy center, slides it up inside. 

Krycek's moan is high and wild. He is lost somewhere, Scully thinks. He is falling through the dark, anchored to the world only where Mulder touches him. Not Venus but Atlantis rising from the waves, so easily let go to sink again. But Mulder fixes his hooks -- another dip and slide and he is stroking a second finger into Krycek and a third. Pressing up and in, grazing the firm nut deep inside until Krycek is crying out continuously, wordless wails and Mulder can no longer control the pace.

"Hey Krycek," he says, breathy laughter just beneath desire. "You want...you want me to f-fuck you now?

"Oh Jesus. Mulder. Fuck..." Krycek arches up, rubs cock to cock and Mulder shudders, eyelids flicker, going down.

"I'll take that...as a 'yes'," he gasps, lifting Krycek's hips one final time. And spreading his own and Scully's juices with shaky, stripping strokes along his own cock, positions his cockhead against Krycek's waiting ass, pushes himself inside.

Long, shuddering breath and slow, short strokes take him to the hilt. A moment of stillness to gain control but there's no way this is going to last and so he begins a slow and driving pace that Krycek can only take and take and take. And Scully's thumb is on her clit, stroking to meet Mulder's rhythm and the hand that grabs clumsily at her wrist is a surprise. Krycek's head is thrown back and his hand is blindly groping... but for her. He catches at her wrist, holds on this time, strong fingers trapping, hanging on for dear life and she has to change hands. But it's all right. It's all all right -- they are all lost inside themselves, lost inside each other and really, really, not lost anymore at all but traveling together through the dark, through the night towards a waterfall of light. And light catches her again, fills her full of magic and delight and Krycek bucks and cries a name she thinks might be her own and Mulder's laughing as he comes and on and on the magic spins...and on.

***

And sometime later, nuzzles of warmth and sleepy stretch and doze.

"So, uh," Krycek says from between them on the bed:. "You guys do this regular or what?"

"Shut up, asshole," Mulder says, but Scully sees his hand come round to cup Krycek's neck. Krycek burrows against the touch, but tension grows.

"I just...I was wondering...I want..."

"Oh *now* he's going to say..."

"Hey, guys," Scully interrupts. "Someone's trying to get some sleep, you know? And besides..." she wonders if they can feel the grin, the heat and all the rest. "Besides. It's. My. Damn. Turn."

=END= 

This isn't really a songfic, but this song was running through my head the whole time and altho I suppose there are lots of interpretations of why and what is really happening between the three of them, I'd have to say I think it's about...

'The Heart of the Matter' - Don Henley

I got the call today, I didn't wanna hear  
But I knew that it would come  
An old, true friend of ours was talkin' on the phone  
She said you found someone  
And I thought of all the bad luck,  
  and the struggles we went through  
And how I lost me and you lost you  
What are those voices outside love's open door  
Make us throw off our contentment  
  and beg for something more?

I'm learning to live without you now  
But I miss you sometimes  
The more I know, the less I understand  
All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again  
I've been tryin' to get down  
  to the heart of the matter  
But my will gets weak  
  and my thoughts seem to scatter  
But I think it's about forgiveness  
Forgiveness  
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore

These times are so uncertain  
There's a yearning undefined  
...people filled with rage  
We all need a little tenderness  
How can love survive in such a graceless age?  
The trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness  
They're the very things we kill, I guess  
Pride and competition  
  cannot fill these empty arms  
And the work I put between us  
  doesn't keep me warm

I'm learning to live without you now  
But I miss you, baby  
The more I know, the less I understand  
All the things I thought I'd figured out  
I have to learn again  
I've been trying to get down  
  to the heart of the matter  
But everything changes  
  and my friends seem to scatter  
But I think it's about forgiveness  
Forgiveness  
Even if, even if you don't love me anymore

There are people in your life who've come and gone  
They let you down and hurt your pride  
Better put it all behind you; life goes on  
You keep carryin' that anger, it'll eat you up inside

I've been trying to get down  
  to the heart of the matter  
But my will gets weak  
  and my thoughts seem to scatter  
But I think it's about forgiveness  
Forgiveness  
Even if, even if you don't love me

I've been tryin' to get down  
  to the heart of the matter  
Because the flesh will get weak  
  and the ashes will scatter  
So I'm thinkin' about forgiveness  
Forgiveness  
Even if, even if you don't love me


End file.
